


#relationshipgoals

by greyvvardenfell



Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/greyvvardenfell
Summary: Reydis and Zevran take another tiny step towards a real relationship.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Brosca
Series: ZevWarden Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811920
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: ZevWarden Week 2020





	#relationshipgoals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ZevWarden Week 2020: Day 7

I feel out of place in this drafty castle. Redcliffe is nice enough, I suppose, with its miles of open fields and quaint little houses, but I was never made for those sorts of things. What proper dwarf farms? What proper dwarf lives in a wooden building? As nice as it feels to be off my feet for once, out of my armor and able to push the seeping fear of the Blight to the back of my mind, I cannot shake the sense that I do not belong here.

I’ve taken to wandering to avoid people, the stiffly proper servants who make a special effort to not give me special effort and the guards who must think I can’t hear them whispering to each other after I pass. The ramparts remind me of the view over Orzammar’s lake of lava from the fringes of Dust Town. I curse myself for pining over my past; I hated that life. I left it gladly. There’s nothing left for me in Orzammar now. My mother will have barely noticed my absence and Leske’s probably flirted his way into a new partnership with a bright-eyed young Brand who’ll trot at his heels in awe just like I used to. Only Rica might spare a thought for me, but only if her plans have fallen through. I hope, for her sake, that she’s far too busy with a screaming little brat to care about the sister who threw her to the Aeducan wolves.

Ha, I doubt she even knows what a wolf is. A description in a book is one thing, but to smell carrion on the creature’s breath as it bares its fangs to rip your throat out is entirely another.

At the very least, all this downtime in Redcliffe has given me an opportunity to read up on humans and the woman they worship. The castle’s library is expansive. I steer clear of the Chantry itself, though. I doubt I’d be welcome even if I wanted to hear the nonsense they spout. I’ve done my best to learn what I can about Alistair’s bloodline, too, and the formation of the Circle of Magi and the templar order. All the convoluted history of this country I’ve apparently been part of since I was born. It makes sense of some things, anyway. But in all the many writings, I’ve never once seen a mention of a dwarf. Let alone a Casteless one.

I can’t say I’m really surprised. None of us do anything that warrants recording in something as expensive as paper and ink.

Sten took off after we returned from looking for his sword on the shores of Lake Calenhad. He asked if he could take Ammy on a walk through the hills. I wonder if he’ll come back. It’s not like he’s the most open and friendly of my companions, but at least he might understand what it’s like to be a stranger in such a strange land.

Alistair, I know, has been holed up in Arl Eamon’s office talking about whatever it is men talk about with each other, and Leliana spends her time with the Sisters at the Chantry or wandering the village with a gaggle of kids in tow. Morrigan hasn’t left her room, too busy poring over her mother’s grimoire. I think Wynne’s been consoling Isolde, telling her and Connor about life in the Circle. With Amgarrak and Sten away, that accounts for all of us.

Except Zevran.

I’ve seen more of him than any of our other— could I call them friends, at this point? I suppose I can. We’ve traveled together for months, back and forth across Ferelden. I know them. It would be hard not to, with all the time we spend together. There’s little else to do trudging the backroads but chat with each other, after all. Zevran, though… I can’t help but feel I know him a little better than the rest. Or at least I’d like to.

I would really, really like to.

Zevran has been the only one not to ask me about Orzammar. Maybe he can see how painful it would be to go back there, even in conversation. Maybe he and I have matching scars. From what he’s said, it’s more than possible. Even so, I truly can’t imagine how difficult his life in Antiva must have been. At least he isn’t there now.

No, where he is, is wherever I seem to be. But I can’t say I mind. He’s often in the library at the same time I am, or popping into the kitchens just as I’m leaving them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was seeking me out. It’s all too likely I’m just hoping for something I can never have, though. All too horribly, disgustingly likely.

Still, I welcome the snarky comments he makes in passing, the little jokes, the quiet moments we spend watching the bustle of the courtyard from the top of a tower together. I don’t think I know what I want from him, if I even really want anything. As relaxed as I feel in his presence, he’s confusing. Flirting with everyone, even me… maybe that’s just it: he doesn’t know what he wants from me either.

Or maybe I’m thinking too much. I do that a lot. My mind feels like a hornets’ nest without the exhaustion of travel to dampen the buzz. Books are only so distracting, and when there are handsome elves to look at over the top of the pages, they lose out every time.

He caught me, once, staring at him. I’m positive I turned crimson when he winked and unbuttoned his shirt a little more. He asked me to eat my midday meal with him that day. And the next, and the next, and the next.

That’s what led to it.

We were taking some food up to the tower we’ve been using to people-watch and I, clumsy as I am, tripped on the stairs. With my hands full, I couldn’t catch myself unless I wanted to ruin our lunch. But I didn’t fall. Somehow, with his lightning-quick assassin reflexes, Zevran caught me. He didn’t even drop anything.

I could feel his strong arm wrapped around my waist, his closeness electrifying. The moment stretched into an eternity, his warm skin pressing against my side, his golden eyes inches from mine, a smile playing on his full lips like he could feel my heart hammering in my chest. He probably could. He was so _close_ … and then he leaned in even closer.

I panicked. I completely and utterly panicked. I pulled away with a nervous laugh and even though he let me go, I knew right away I didn’t want him to. He didn’t seem to want to either; I caught regret flash across his face as he stepped back. And we continued on up the stairs like nothing had happened.

We both knew, though. Something had.

All through lunch, I couldn’t stop looking at him. And I didn’t call him on it when I felt him looking at me either. Part of me wanted to shrug it off; no one had ever wanted to kiss me before, so why should he? Yet I couldn’t forget the closeness, the heat, the look in his eyes.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m at a total loss. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had anyone to do this with. He knows that. He has to know that. Even if he wasn’t as observant as he is, he would know that.

Just look at me.

Of course, I want it. I don’t want to let this go. But what if I mess it up? What if he laughs at me, at my obvious inexperience? What if I’m misreading all of this, including the way he caught me? Anyone else would’ve done the same, right?

Right?

I blush whenever I see him now. He must’ve noticed that too. But I still haven’t said anything. Not about this.

And neither has he.


End file.
